


Mother's Milk

by Biliouskaiju, Chrome Carnivale (thewarboys)



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 22:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4239735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biliouskaiju/pseuds/Biliouskaiju, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewarboys/pseuds/Chrome%20Carnivale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dreaming Big in the Wastelands can have big consequences, as young Slit and Nux quickly discover when they conspire to steal one of the Immortan's most precious, and delicious resources.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother's Milk

To be in the presence of one of Immortan Joe's wives was a high honor in and of itself, but only one ever spared the likes of War Boys much more than a rare glance. Miss Giddy was beyond her birthing years, and under strict supervision, the newest generation of Immortan's mechanics were allowed to crowd into a room with her, and listen to her stories.

Slit, a scrawny scrap of War Pup, couldn't remember a time when he did not come and sit before the woman every week, and after nine years, he was certain he'd already heard them all. Today, it was the tale of the lizard and crow. They must be quick. They must be vigilant. They must fly across the sands, or scurry over its dunes. For the lizard and crow were locked in an eternal struggle, one always fearful of being snatched up by the crow, while the crow forever ran from starvation. In this lesson, the young pups learned what survival was, what life in this wasteland held for them. Death awaited them all, but War Dogs and Raiders, those from above, and down below, were all locked together in the same struggle.

"Hurry up, come on! Back to your chores!" A teenaged Rictus barked orders at the pups and waved them through the doorway, shoving and slapping at their shorn heads to get them moving faster.

But Slit had higher aspirations than mucking out the latrines, or re-greasing the War Rig as he passed by the Mother's Den. His mouth watered at the sight of plump, round women, and the pure white elixir they produced. He could smell the milk on the dusty air, and could only imagine the taste. He'd seen Rictus pour it down his gullet several times, and had wondered at the whiteness of it, the thickness, like some heavenly drink only the Immortan and the great Warriors of Walhalla could enjoy.

"What do ya think about that, Nux? Bet you're not fast enough. Bet you couldn't snag a taste and get away. That's the nectar, that is. That's Heaven Mannah, like what Miss Giddy talks about."

The even scrawnier pup was only just scrambling to his feet, having been locked in rapt attention to the story. Crows flying, Lizards leaping, he'd watched the chariots blast forth across the desert; what flying - if they flew fast enough, death would never catch them. He blinked up at the older boy before following his gaze to try to piece together what he had missed.

"What, that's death! Stupid idea. Rictus would crumple you like an oil can!" His attention went back to the silver-haired woman being escorted away and sagged slightly. He had hoped maybe if he lingered there'd be another story.

"Got me a whole bottle once!" Slit lied, puffing his chest and looking down his nose at the Below Boy. But as Rictus neared them, he grabbed Nux's wrist and pulled him away, down into a small hollow in the rock wall. "Others all call you dog piss, y'know. You wanna sop up their shlanger, eh? You get the nectar and nobody'll toss you in the dirt again!"

Nux flinched back, expression twisting into a fierce snarl, "If I'm dog piss, they're… they're…" He rallied for the right word, but his knowledge on the animal kingdom was limited, "Dog shit!" That about covered it, he felt, but even so, the doubt had been planted. "Who's said this, Brother? Their deaths will be mundane, mediocre!" He'd heard the older boys toss around insults like that, the worst thing imaginable, judging by the fist fights that tended to follow such accusations.

They did, though, toss him in the dirt far more often than he was comfortable with. He had tried biting, but then they just accused him of being Feral. He had tried his fists, but they were too small to do much good beyond being especially efficient at oiling engines. Most recently, Nux had settled on a habit of being as difficult to catch as possible. Hanging around the older and bigger Slit had helped as well.

After just a few moments of the concept working its way through his head, his brows furled and he glanced up at his Brother again. "A whole bottle?" His voice dropped down into a heated whisper, "Lies and Fabri'cations! You never!"

"Fine," Slit growled, and snatched Nux's shoulders, wrestling him down onto his back and slapping him across the face for struggling. The rock hollow was narrow, without much room for the both of them, and Slit bore his teeth down at his blue-eyed shadow. "If I lie, then you die! I knock their heads when they call you piss! I beat them down when they toss you! Maybe I shouldn't! Maybe you are just a Below Boy, gonna lick their boots your whole Half Life!"

The smaller Pup gave a startled yelp as he was tackled, the wind momentarily knocked out of him, but he continued to hold his breath as Slit snarled, his own face reddening behind his grimace. "I AM NOT! I AM NUX, THE UNCRACKABLE!" He felt the hollar belt out of him before he could stop it, his voice resonating in the tunnel, and he swallowed deeply as the echoes faded. Blending into the distant sounds of Rictus' shouted orders, no one had heard him, or if they had, they didn't care.

Sitting up sharply, he shoved Slit off, straightening his shoulders and balling his fists as he caught his breath, and the two boys stared challenges at each other, daring the other to attack. His voice dropped down again, glancing down the hall as though considering the dare, and nervously scratched at the small lump at his neck. "You stomp them for me?"

Slit panted and sat down, peeking around Nux. Rictus was far down the hall, still chasing off the other Pups, until the area was relatively quiet and clear. They wouldn't get a better chance. And better Nux's hide than his own, if they were going to pull this off.

"See here?" The older boy twisted around so Nux could see his back, where a new scar showed pink and agitated through his salt-white powder. "Organic an' his mates...they was laughin' about you. I stomped 'em good. Even got one of his knives, see? All for you, 'cause you're not just a Below Boy. My Brother is shine!"

He grinned as he turned back to face the younger Pup again, hand grasping at the back of his neck to bring their foreheads together. "Yeah? You're Nux! But you gotta show 'em. We get that nectar, we'll taste the Heaven Mannah, and die historic for sure."

The sight of the fresh cut sent a fire brimming in Nux's stomach, igniting an engine that revved all the way to his fists. By the time Slit had pulled him in, his nostrils were flaring, trembling with fresh adrenalin. "They say it is the Perfect Food! Everything. Makes you big and strong like Rictus! The Food of Imperators! Of Immortans! I saw the Fat Man from Gas Town drink a whole bucket! One sip, I could knock all of them down and cut them like meat!"

"It'll be chrome, Brother!" Slit whispered encouragement, and released the younger boy to step out of the hollow and into the hall. It was only them, and the dim-eyed workers that would never notice them. But Rictus was sure to come back. They would have to be quick. Lizards scurrying from the crow. And Nux was right. One sip, and they'd be filled with the strength of an Immortan. Might even be claimed as Joe's sons. It would be the most shine thing either of them had ever done.

"You go, I'll keep watch for Rictus! Go, hurry! Come on!" He pulled at his fellow War Pup and ran down the hall to the doorway of the Mother's Den, pausing and peeking carefully inside. His blood pumped hot, full of High Octane fuel at the thrill of tasting the milk. One bottle, and they wouldn't need to eat for a week. Wouldn't have to settle for scraps. He waved Nux around, no guards or Immortan Sons in sight, only the delicious Mothers and their holy Mannah.

Nux waited for the signal, heart pounding as he scooted forward like a white-powdered shadow. He had gotten very good at slinking, and staying out of the way. It was what had earned his promotion from pure Scavenging to the Garage Apprenticeship. Quick in, quick out. Don't be noticed by The Mothers. He hesitated as he crept past, eyeing the strange sight of them in their rows. Miss Giddy had told them once about Cattle and Farms, in the Before-Time. For a moment, he felt wary. He still remembered his Mother. She had had more lumps than him, but had been kind, had given him Shiny things until she was gone. He didn't like the idea of her being strapped to a chair with nothing to cottle but a ragdoll, while a machine pumped her essence out. He knew it was called Mother's Milk. He knew it came from the Milkers. It wasn't until it was displayed in front of him did he make the connection.

That was dangerous thinking for a future War Boy. Questions like the one dancing on his tongue had earned him more than enough beatings to know to shuffle those thoughts away and concentrate on the Goal. Regardless of where it came from, it still was what it was. They should be honored, respected for their position. An integral cog in the machine that roared to life only when the pistons were firing. That was what they said; that was what he was taught.

Shuffling from the shadows, he stood before them, one lifting a weary eye his way as he lifted his hands, fingers knitted in a proper salute up over his head, and bowed to them, "V-8!"

The dark-haired Mother smiled at him. Just a boy. Just a War Pup. Not yet a brute like Rictus, and not old enough to do as Immortan and his Sons did. And all she, and the other Mothers, ever saw of their children after weaning were the brief glimpses through the door, when the Pups attended their lessons. Perhaps even this one was hers. It was as good a chance as any.

"Hello child," she said softly, reaching out toward him. "Come and let me see you."

 _"Nux!"_  Slit whispered sharply from the door, gesturing at him to hurry it up. He was so close, and Rictus was certain to come round the far corner of the hall any moment. And this stupid pup was wasting time saying hello to the Mothers, when all they needed was the milk. If they got away with this, he would thump him hard for his distraction.

"Er," The boy glanced back to his friend at the doorway, shifting on his feet before looking back to the Mother, then to the crate of bottles not a meter away. Multi-task. He was good at multi-tasking, it made him twice as useful. He dodged toward the table, scrambling up onto a nearby chair to grab a bottle and stuff it into his pocket. "If you don't tell you sawr me!" He grabbed another, twisting it in his hands. One for each of them. Twice the dare. Slit and the rest of them would be blinded by his Chrome.

"They will tell stories about me, you know, Milker!" He hopped down smugly, holding the bottle up for her to see.

Down the hall, he could already hear voices. The Brothers, no doubt, arguing over something. Still time, still time, but he'd have to make this quick.

"Hurry, my boy," The Mother said, looking to the other Pup at the door, who seemed as though he might leap from his skin at any moment with anticipation. "Come and take my hand! Let me kiss you before you go!"

"Nux, I'm gonna shred you!  _Come on!_ " Slit beckoned wildly, full of electric dread when the other Mothers began to plead just as the first had, all of them desperate to hold the child in their arms, all reaching for him as they whispered and urged him to come closer. He was Historic already, the little shit! The Mothers all loved him for his bravery. And Slit froze when one of them turned her eyes toward him, and reached for him, too.

Panicked, he ran inside and snatched one of the bottles from Nux's hands, and ran back out again just as The Brothers appeared in the hall. He went ice cold, staring out at them as Rictus bellowed and lurched forward to give chase. No time. There was no time. No time to grab Nux. He was too far inside the Den. No time to think. The enormous shadow of the crow was encroaching. Slit would die mediocre if he did not escape. He turned tail and raced away, The Brothers hot on his heels.

"NO STEALIN' FATHER'S 'FINGS!" Rictus bellowed, and Nux could swear felt the ground tremble under his feet with every leaping step.

The Mothers were forgotten, dread clinging to his stomach. He couldn't breathe. It was like the time they had thrown him in the Water Well, winter-cold down to his spine. "M'sorry!" He squeaked to the pleading women straining in their chairs to reach him "They'll kill 'im! I must Witness!" His bare feet scrambled on the sandy stone floor as another set of voices approached - Rictus had returned. Nux immediately double backed, dodging behind the rows of chairs and just narrowly missing the groping hands as a full-grown War Boy came tearing in, fury written all over his face.

"Quiet! Quiet, the lot of you!" He roared, and as he stalked past the Milkers, a threat in every footstep, quick and quiet as a shadow Nux skirted around just out of view, darting through the doorway, running at full speed before dodging into the alcove he and Slit had been plotting in, and gasped for breath.

He managed to catch a quick glimpse of Rictus sitting atop Slit, tackled down onto his stomach, hands twisted behind his back, and pulled back again sharply into the shadows as the War Boy stalked toward him.

"Should I call father?" The simple minded brute of a prince glanced up at the older companion.

"Nah, nah, this grease stain aint worth it. Immortan's got more important things than t'deal with thieves."

Frustrated, Rictus gave the War Pup in his grip a good fresh slam against the stone floor, and watched as blood beaded over the boy's brow. "Should I 'frow 'im out the hatch?"

The War Boy considered for several painful moments, in which Nux could feel his heart attempt to leap from his mouth. He should say something. He should do something. He should leap out and defend his friend, take some of the heat, redirect their attention until they could both run away. But fear, deep and primal, kept him glued to the spot. Life was about Survival, after all. If they were going to kill him, someone would have to Witness. Someone would have to Remember. His cheeks wet with tears, Nux didn't dare move to wipe them clean.

"What's your name, pup?" The War Boy sneared, crouching beside the captured boy with a dangerous expression. He reached to pick up the bottle of milk from where it had landed in the scuffle, relieved, at least, that nothing had spilled.

Slit had tried desperately to uncap the bottle and imbibe the white elixir that would make him strong enough to fight, to escape and transcend. But he'd hardly had time to yelp when Rictus scruffed him, the weight of him squeezing the breath out of the War Pup's lungs. Pain shot up his arms, and he fought the sting of tears as he squirmed uselessly, a lizard in the crow's talons. Nux's fault. All his fault! If he'd just grabbed a bottle and run, they'd have got away together. They'd have tasted Mother's Milk. All lost, because the stupid pup couldn't just do as he was told, couldn't ignore the Milkers, the clever Mothers who distracted and gave time for Rictus to come back. And now there'd be no one to Witness him. Tears slid down his cheeks and into the dust as the grown War Boy growled down at him, impatient for an answer.

He swallowed hard against a sob in his throat. "S-Slit! My name's Slit!"

"Slit, eh?" The young man grinned, "No, no, not the hatch." Rictus seemed disappointed by this, expressing it with another sharp shove that squished Slit's cheek against the sandy stone. "We'll make an example of him, won't we, Rictus?"

"Make an example of him!" That seemed to peak the prince's interest, beaming up through the straps of his respirator enthusiastically. He didn't need to be told twice. He might have been simple-minded, but he could be very creative when it came to certain things. The older War Boy unsheathed his knife with a ceremonial twirl, still crouched beside Slit as he pointed the blade toward his eyes.

"Do we cut off his nose, you think?"

"Yes!" Rictus would probably have agreed with any suggestion, really.

"Don't want to bother the Organic Mechanic over this nonsense, though. Got your torch?"

"No!" Slit pleaded, a new wave of vigor coursing through his body as the pistons of his heart slammed to overdrive at the sight of the knife. His stomach lurched, and the breath left his lungs a second time as Rictus slammed his knee into the boy's ribs, his shorn head grinding into the stone floor until his ears rang.  _"Please!"_

He regretted saying it immediately, but there was no help for it. Pleading for his life was a grave sin, to cower and grovel did not befit a Dog of War. He should have spat, should have snarled, defiant to the very end, like a true War Boy. And his shame drove deep into his soul when Rictus broke out into laughter.

"Please! PLEASE! Got a real gennal'man here, eh?" Rictus's cohort laughed just as hard, snatching the torch from the burlier boy's tool belt. The hall was suddenly bathed in fresh bright light and Nux had to duck back, hands over his mouth to keep from making a noise as his shadowy cover was diminished considerably. The light was gone after only a moment, but when their eyes readjusted to the gloom, the knife blade glowed red-hot. "Quick now, Ric, while it burns. Give him a reminder. Make 'im pretty."

Nux was glad he couldn't see, glad no one could see HIM, and was thankful he had had very little to drink that day as he trembled from head to toe, gripping the stones as though he could vanish into them, until his fingertips were bloody. No sympathy. Only judgement. That was what the Immortan would think. His friend, his fierce, terrible friend, his Brother, stealing Milk and tortured to death. Opposite of Mundane but hardly Walhalla-worthy. Shame. After everything the boy had done, he didn't deserve this. His fault, it was Nux's fault. Foolish, foolish. He thought too much. What would the Gods think of him? Together. Together they would dine eternal, regardless of what happened. No hatch. He could live, still.

The hot blade cut flesh like butter, and Slit could smell it cooking as Rictus yanked him up by his arms. He was sure his spine would snap under the behemoth's knee, but that pain gave way quickly to the abrupt agony of the knife. It slid from his cheekbone, split open his cheek, and lingered half-way in his mouth for just a moment as the War Boy angled to finish the cut at the corner of the pup's mouth.

He screamed. Couldn't move. Held firmly still by cruel hands and cruel bodies, punishing him for his weakness, and for daring to attempt to climb higher than he was ever meant to. He would never taste the Milk. He would never be as strong as the Immortan. Foolish. Stupid to even try. And before the ragged scream in his throat could even die for the sake of breath, the blade cut him again, and laid open his mouth to a wide and grotesque smile.

His split-open cheeks wet with tears, and the hall filled with his sobbing cries, Slit only now earned his namesake, and the Mothers screamed from their Den for mercy on his behalf. But they were helpless, as much as him. The damage had been done, and there was no undoing it. His weeping rang in Rictus' ears, and the teenage prince sneered and slammed the pup's head against the floor, until his cries gave a sudden and chilling halt. Unconscious. Bleeding. Maimed. This was what awaited those that defied the Immortan's rules.

Both War Boys laughed heartily now, letting the tortured child fall limp as they stood over him. Rictus was handed the bottle, which he happily uncapped and downed thirstily before dropping the empty bottle in front of him, glass shattering close to Slit's steaming, mutilated face. "No blood. No reason not to return to your hole, pup! Back to work or it WILL be your nose, _Slit._ " His name was spat now, like a swear or an accusation. Their fun had, the two playfully gave him a few kicks and a dose of spit before stepping over his body to go quiet the howling Milkers and lock the door behind them.

Nux waited until he heard the snap and clang of the hatch before practically tumbling from his hiding spot to skid to a stop beside his fallen friend. "C'mon, Slit, we gotta' scat! I gotcha', Brother!" Wobbling, he hefted Slit's arm up around his shoulders to try to haul him to his feet. He wasn't about to waste any more time, not after what had just happened, and stumbling under the other pup's weight he managed to half drag him out and away toward the ramps that lead to the Garage they were stationed in.

He didn't stop until they were safely able to slump under a broken-down hull frame, propped up on cinders. Slit could regain his senses there, Nux figured, leaving him on a heap of rags as he scooted to get something. When he returned, the tool in hand, he quietly scooted toward him, brows still knit with concern. "I was there to Witness," he murmured. It was meant as words of comfort, although Nux was certain Slit found no relief in the idea that someone had been there to see  _that_. "Just in case," he added in what he hoped was a nonchalant fashion.

Slit moaned, a rope of saliva sliding off his lip, carrying the faint stain of blood from what little there had been. With his cheeks cauterized and sealed, only the pain was left, throbbing through his entire face with the rhythm of his heartbeat.

A whimper rasped in his throat, and his eyes went hot with renewed tears as he recoiled from Nux, while his dusty, trembling hands tried to cover his face. He wanted to curse at Nux, wanted to stomp him and cut him, but the pain was a white hot fire in his flesh, and the War Pup was reduced to the child he really was. Nine years old for a Half Life was practically on the cusp of adulthood. But now he felt small, and helpless, and hated it. Hated every stinging, awful moment that he couldn't force himself to stop crying in front of the Below Boy.

Nux bit his lip, panic bubbling in him. It was one thing to bite back your own tears, or to scoff at any of the other War Pups who showed weakness like this. It was another entirely when it was a comrade, especially when he was still battling his own guilt in the situation. He SHOULDN'T feel guilty, he rationalized to himself- the whole thing had been Slit's idea to begin with.

He lifted the tool in his hand, an industrial stapler, usually used to tie together thin sheets of metal in a pinch. "I brought this! We can… we can try to make it a little easier… can you talk? Just hold still, I can do it if you lean forward, you know I'm good at this stuff!"

Slit jerked back. Why couldn't he just  _leave_?! Just hide away, like the little coward Nux was! The engine of Slit's fury finally revved, and he roared when the stapler came looming at his face. He launched forward, teeth gritting and showing full through the new gaps in his cheeks. The pups scuffled, wrestled, until Slit reeled a fist back and brought it down hard across Nux's skull, over and over again, until blood gushed from the younger boy's nose.

He might have kept going, if hands hadn't swept down beneath the hull to grab at him, hauling him kicking and screaming across the floor.

"OY! The hell're you doin' under there?!" A full-fledged War Boy shoved Slit against the outer hull, struggling with the pup's scrabbling arms until he got them pinned to his chest, only then noticing the burned edges of his sliced face. He looked down to the floor again, and bellowed at the other scrapper he knew was down there, too.

"Come on out! There's work to get done! Don't need none of this scrappin' about! Hear me?! Get to your stations!"

"Eep!" Was all Nux was able to say as he shuffled out from under the car hull, his nose gushing with blood as he tried to hold it. "I wos' tryin' t'fix him! There… there was an accident, Brother!" He finally managed, still seeing stars from Slit's furious blows. The stapler was still tucked under his arm, and he was proud he hadn't lost it in the scuffle, quick to hook it to his belt before it was taken away.

"Hell of an accident," the War Boy grumbled, eyeing Slit before letting up on his grip. "No more squabbles. Been enough trouble, eh?"

Slit kept his blurred vision on the ground, while wiping furiously at his tears. It was one thing to cry in front of Nux. To have cried in front of Rictus. He wouldn't have another War Boy looking down on him, too.

"Eh?!" The young man hit Slit's chest with the back of his hand, while gripping the back of Nux's neck with the other, demanding a response.

Slit gave a fierce nod, sniffling and walking away, his face still aflame with the sensation of the knife, as if it was still there. Still slicing him. He wanted a Dose from Organic. Then he could sleep. Sleep the pain away, and wake up chrome.

Nux's lips pouted, brows still knit in concern and his face red with flowing blood all down his bare powdered front as he watched Slit go. There wasn't more he could do just then, he figured. Let Slit wallow in his self pity. He'd worry about his possibly broken nose and both of their duties that afternoon.

The evening drew on, and Slit was not at dinner, nor the evening hosing. The pups were herded into the barracks, and Slit was still nowhere to be found. Maybe coming in late? Nux waited, eyes peeled even as the darkness set and the air turned cold in the damp bunker. Well, there was certainly no sleeping without at least making sure he didn't get into further trouble. It was the least he could do. Slit didn't need any more trouble if they found out he had skipped curfew.

As silently as he could, the little War Pup crept through the halls, peering in where he could for any sign of him. He knew most of his haunts, but the facility was huge, carved deep into the mountains. Who knew what the older boy kept secret? Even so, he'd start with what he knew. The stables was a good start for someone looking to sleep outside of the barracks. Plenty of cars with plush leather seats, or little hide-aways under the workbenches. "Slit!" He hissed into the darkness, shivering slightly as he looked in and under each car. "Slit, you there, Brother?"

"Guh 'ay!" Slit attempted, from inside an enormous War Rig tire that had yet to be fitted with spikes. Some of the other pups had seen him before he found his hiding place. They'd said nothing, but whispered to each other, and Slit was too drugged with the Dose Organic gave him to thump them there and then.

The truth was, he still felt stupid and ashamed. He had defied his Immortan, and was lucky still to be alive. Joe was merciful. He could have ordered his death. The prince had surely told him by now, and the humiliation was too much to bear. He didn't deserve to be among the other War Pups. Didn't deserve his dinner. So he'd spent all evening, banishing himself to the tire.

"Uh!" Nux beamed excitedly, tripping past a work station and around a half assembled engine to the source of the slurred voice, bouncing up to the massive tire to lean over the rim and peer inside. Lo and Behold, there he was! Sulking, still. "It's not that bad, you know." He didn't attempt to climb inside with him, crouching down beside it to gently rest his chin on the rubber rim. "I wanted to give this to you earlier, but you got cross on me." He pulled his head back so he could reach his arm around and into the tire, hand gripping tight the full bottle of Milk that had been safely stowed in his pocket all that time. "Here, all yours!"

"Iv it's tha' sta'le gun-" Slit stopped, and stared up at the bottle with wide eyes. The nectar! The Below Boy had kept it! And Slit bolted upright to check that it wasn't a trick, wasn't just an empty bottle the fool snatched by accident.

It was all there, as he twisted the cap and exposed the Milk inside, full to the brim. He almost smiled, but winced at the sharp pain that came with trying to move the torn muscles of his cheeks. All was forgiven. Nux had come through, and it didn't matter if he'd tucked tail and run while Slit got carved. He got the elixir of the Immortans!

With no dinner in his belly, Slit felt drool accumulating behind his lips, and carefully tipped his head back to pour the delicious Mannah over his tongue. He nearly choked, drinking down one swallow's worth before holding the bottle away and struggling not to spill any through his cheeks.

"S'eet, 'rother! It's s'eet! Dr'nk!" He pushed the bottle back into Nux's hands, all his shame forgotten as he found his way back to his feet.

"I don't un'nerstand a word, Brother!" Nux laughed, just happy to see his friend brighten up so. He hesitated as the bottle was returned to him, tempted for a moment to shove it back, as though giving it entirely to Slit lifted him of all his sins in the matter… even so, the measly gruel they were given could not compare to the  _drink of the Immortan_... He had to at least taste it, right? After all that trouble, he did deserve a sip. "Do you feel more powerful? High Octane food for High Octane crazy fucks, yes?" The little boy stared at the liquid, studying it before taking a sip himself.

It was warm from his pocket, but tasted like nothing he could remember tasting before. Something primal. How could he begin to describe the taste? He wasn't entirely sure if he liked it or not, but… "Like… like mud aqua-cola. But good?" No, that didn't cover it. He offered the bottle back to his friend again.

"Nnh!" Slit nodded and happily accepted the bottle to drink again. It was somehow familiar, but he couldn't place it. The sweetness of it was overwhelming, compared to the dull, dusty gruel and tasteless water that made up his palette. Strange white mud aqua-cola. The drink of Walhalla, served at the great feasts of the Fallen Warriors.

"High Oct'ne cr'zy fucks!" He laughed, heart pumping hard from the thrill of what they'd accomplished. Slit slapped Nux's arm, and gave a hard nod as he put the bottle in his hands again. He'd earned the right to finish it off, and to shine alongside him.

Nux gave a mighty roar as he finished the bottle, the best impression of an engine his little lungs could handle, erupting with renewed excitement over the day's adventure. "We are War Boys!"

"'Ar B'ys!" Slit chanted.

"We are kami-crazy War Boys!"

"'Ar B'ys!"

Nux jumped up onto the tire to stand over his friend, waving the bottle in the air triumphantly. "No one's gonna' believe us! But we'll know! We'll know we're shinier'n all of them! The most Chrome! No rust!"

"Sh'ney'n Chr'me! Sh'ney'n Chr'me!" Slit snatched Nux around the waist and lifted him up, laughing and spinning a circle inside the tire. He felt stronger, forgot the pain in his cheeks, certain it wasn't just Organic's Dose keeping it at bay. They were Destined for greatness, and would be legends, born up by the Immortans of all the ages, infused with the High Octane Milk of the Mothers. "V-8! V-8! V-8!"

Nux couldn't hold in his delighted giggles. He was still a boy of six or perhaps seven (he was never really sure), but delighted in how things had turned out, he couldn't help himself. The Nectar was in him, and he was ready, ready for war! Ready to make their Immortan proud! Ready to take on Death! At least in pretend. He squealed with glee, wriggling down from his friend's arms to pull him by the hand toward one of the half-repaired Racers before climbing up inside, "Blow them all, Lancer!" The wheel was not inserted, but he could still imagine it in his hands, the wind whipping past, flying over the dunes.

Slit was quick to pick up on the game, and jumped up into the unmanned trunk, reaching up over his head to grab the handles of the mounted flamethrower. He made the sounds of roaring flames as well as he could, swinging the long barrel around to burn down an imaginary desert Raider.

"Fo' the Imm'rtaaaaan!" He bellowed, and pretended to pick up one of the long, explosive poles before jumping up on the edge of the trunk, poised to leap onto the Racer beside them, as though it were driven by one of the Wildlings of the desert foolish enough to attack their convoy.

"BVROOOOOO!" Nux pretended to swerve the car, bouncing in his seat until it shook on it's cinderblocks when suddenly a voice called through the darkness.

"OY! YOU, PUPS! To BED with you! Outta' here!" A War Boy had spotted them, weaving his way closer through the garage. Nux was quick to hop up, grabbing Slit by the arm to drag him down, still giggling giddily.

Just as Slit was about to leap to the other car, he froze, peering over at the source of the voice in the distance. He followed after Nux, holding back his own laughter as he gripped his imaginary spear tighter, and whispered into the younger boy's ear.

"W'tn'ss meh!"

With that, he leapt from the car and rolled across the ground, straight into the path of the War Boy. Emboldened by the Mother's Milk, he pretended to throw the explosive spear at him, swinging his arms wide as he made the sound of the explosion, gesturing as though the flames and black smoke of it were billowing outward and over himself.

"WITNESS!" Nux couldn't hold in his raucous laughter, throwing his hands up in the air enthusiastically only to realize he was still holding the empty Milk Bottle.

Immediately, he tucked it back into his side pocket.

The War Boy didn't seem to notice, at least, as he mimed being struck down in fire as he keeled backward dramatically, "Oh noooo! I've been got! But the Valiant War Pup is feasting in Walhalla!" The charade had, he sat up again, "Seriousness, though, little soldiers, it's time for bed, or there'll be a woopin' for you both."

Nux was already yawning, rubbing his eyes as the grown War Boy stood and scooped the little pup up into his arm, offering a hand to Slit as well.

Grinning big, despite the sting it caused, Slit took the War Boy's hand, imagining he was one of the Eternal Warriors, leading them to the paradise of Walhalla. Which was, in reality, a room full to bursting with sleepy War Pups, all huddled together for warmth in the cold desert night.

As he and Nux bedded down in their usual place, Slit's eyes felt suddenly heavy, and he fought the urge to yawn that might split open the scabs across his cheeks.

W're shinin'..." he insisted to the War Boy. "W'n't never be…" he lost the battle against the yawn, and flinched hard in pain, grumbling as he huddled down against Nux. "Hmn...meh'di'cre…"

"Certainly not, with training like that," Came the reply. Nux was already out like a light over the course of the walk, his own tank running empty from a stressful day, lulled by sweet warm milk in his system. The War Boy set them both down, dragging over a spare rag. "Sleep deep. There's work t'be done on the marrow, pups." That said, he gave them both a quick rub on their shaved heads before shuffling back out to resume his patrol.

"Chrome, Brother…" Nux murmured in his sleep, curled up beside him as his thumb popped into his mouth as though in response to a distant fading memory.

"Chr'me…" Slit muttered, and slowly drifted off to sleep, into dreams of lizards and crows, and Walhalla, where rivers of Milk flowed eternal, and the Immortan took them into his bosom as his sons.

And the sound of war drums beat on from the crackling clouds above, a storm rolling across the Wasteland, furious and powerful, a lullaby in the ears of every War Pup dreaming of greatness.


End file.
